


The Way it Works

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would be bad to kill a Federation hero, wouldn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way it Works

**Author's Note:**

> begun for [](http://community.livejournal.com/bridge2sickbay/profile)[**bridge2sickbay**](http://community.livejournal.com/bridge2sickbay/) and the prompt "Uhura resolves to not kill her Captain when he's an ass" except it went and got long and, um,  it turned into that story where I finally tackle the idea of what if? What if my personal canon of Spock/T'Pring still being bonded were true? How would Uhura handle that? So, um, mentions Spock/Uhura but, as much as I like them, is so NOT a S/U fic So, yes, there be angst and humor in equal parts here.

*

He speaks Ancient High Vulcan. Astonished, Nyota turns to face him. Maybe her mouth falls open a little as she stares at him, maybe it doesn't, but either way, Nyota's too busy to care.

Jim. Kirk. Speaks Ancient High Vulcan. She's still astonished that he speaks _Vulcan_, this is almost too much.

"So," he says, on the way out out of the room, "you've gotta tell me something."

She looks at him, out of the corner of her eye, and waits for it. By the smug grin on his face, it's going to be good.

"Where'd you pick up that accent? Total Lesser Sea, right?" Jim's grin widens. "Aren't people from there considered to be like country bumpkins or something?"

She doesn't hit him, but mostly because Captain Pike happens to be passing by.

*

She slips. Reaching for the next handhold, Nyota's foothold gives way and she drops. Without so much as a squeak, she starts to fall.

A hand grabs hold, bringing her up sharply, and when she looks up, Jim Kirk is grinning down at her.

"So, isn't this where you say thank you?"

Killing him would be too easy.

*

He takes the command chair like he owns it. Nyota watches him settle in, as if the mantle of command can be assumed by sitting in a chair, and ignores the part where he makes it seem like he _can_.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing," she says, slipping an edge on the words. Doubt. Just enough.

His gaze flicks up to meet hers. It's a second, maybe two, and she can see the response in his eyes. The typical Kirk smirk waiting to bust out, but when she blinks, it's gone.

Nyota turns away, wondering if, maybe it was ever actually there.

*

"So," he says, when they pin a dozen different medals on his chest and promise him the only reward that matters, with a smile that's damn near blinding and nothing like the doubt of earlier, "_Nyota_."

She closes her eyes.

"Is Spock going to have to sleep on the couch?" he continues and, even with her eyes closed tight, she can _hear_ the smirk.

It would be bad to kill a Federation hero, wouldn't it?

She's not sure, but she's guessing that it probably is.

*

The wall is slick against her back, cold with the icy temperatures outside, and she squirms. She's tried pacing, but it's pitch black and she tripped over the captain.

_Twice_.

She's cold, cranky, and frustrated. Biting her lip, Nyota leans forward, away from the cold. The captain, Jim, is sitting across from her, quiet, but she can hear it anyway.

"This isn't my fault," she says.

"Nope," he agrees. His voice is even, calm, and she _knows_ he's grinning.

The jerk.

"It _isn't_," she insists.

"I know," he says. There's a faint rustle of movement and then he's beside her, shoulder and arm warm against her side. "They're telepaths. No verbal language. We were fucked from go."

Which is true, but Spock's not here. She can ignore logic and sulk all she damn well wants.

And she is. She _so_ is.

There's a pause, an prolonged and ominous pause, and it might be pitch black but Nyota still closes her eyes. She knows what's coming.

"It's just too bad it wasn't the fun kind. I vote we have the next negotiation on Risa."

She hates him for it, but she can't stop herself. She laughs anyway.

*

It ends. Not badly, not in heat and fire, it just _ends_. The message comes, curt and simple, and it's over. Logical, she supposes, laughs bitterly to herself. She doesn't pretend it doesn't hurt. Doesn't pretend that Spock doesn't feel it either.

"So, he's married, huh?" Jim says.

She looks up, angry in an instant, and he's standing there. His trademark smirk's gone and, maybe, he's just a little angry too. There's something in his eyes, but it's gone before she can identify it.

"With respect, _Captain_," she bites out, "I didn't come here for a counseling session." Here being a backwater bar on a backwater planet. This isn't her, hiding out with a drink even she can't pronounce the name of, while everyone else cavorts on the beach. "I wanted to be alone."

"Funny," he says, sitting down. "I was thinking the same thing." He smirks then, quick and sharp, "This is my favorite place."

"We've never been here before," she points out.

"You haven't," he says. "I have." He flicks two fingers at the bartender and, in a second, there are two slim drinks before them. "This'll help."

She mutters something rude in Andorian.

He grins. "I love a lady who curses."

"He isn't married," she says. "It's -- "

"More than a betrothal, less than a marriage," Jim finishes. "Yeah, I know. Try telling the Vulcans that's not a formal commitment."

She gets up. His hand closes around her arm and, in the next instant, hers connects with his cheek. He doesn't rock back, doesn't move at all, just holds his position and looks at her.

Horrified, she stammers out an apology, but he shakes his head. It's a second, then two, before she realizes that she's crying.

Jim pulls her back onto the stool. She lets him.

"I could order you to call him an asshole," he says.

"He didn't have a choice," she says. "They were children and -- " she sighs. "We made a mistake."

It doesn't feel like it. Not a single second of it. Even now, even knowing what she does, she can't regret it and, maybe, that's the worst part of all.

She only regrets losing it and what does that make her?

This is the part where she makes a grand speech, recanting everything she's ever said and thought about the man sitting beside her. All those years of judging and huffing and, maybe, down deep envying, and now she's _this_.

Or was all along.

She makes no grand speech, recants nothing, and it's just as well. She doesn't think that he'd want to hear it anyway.

"I didn't know," she says, slow and deliberate, making herself face the truth as much as him, "because I didn't want to know." It's not as if she couldn't have seen it for herself. She knows Vulcan's traditions, Spock's station, it wouldn't have taken much to find out.

Jim says nothing. She hates him a little for that. He should argue, tell her otherwise, but she knows he can't. She's told herself more than enough lies.

"I should hate myself," she says, "but I don't." She looks at him, expecting an answer, "Why don't I hate myself?"

"You will," he says. His voice is one of experience. "First time you see them together." He tosses back his own drink, chasing away the memories maybe, and Nyota tries to picture that. Her mind paints an image of Spock and this faceless Vulcan woman and her stomach lurches.

"I hate _you_," she says.

He nods, almost smiling. "Better me than you." Sliding off his stool, he tosses some of the local currency the bartender's way, and holds out a hand to her. "Come on," he says. "I know this great doctor with a rocking collection of anti-tox and booze. We can sober up and then get drunk all over again. Maybe Bones'll even join in."

She lets him pull her off the stool and hold her up when her legs start to wobble. She tenses as much as she can, but he keeps his hands to himself, supporting her on the way out the door.

"I'm glad I didn't kill you," she says and, she is, mostly. He's still an ass -- sometimes.

"Imagine my relief," he says. Outside, he pulls out his communicator. A quick call to the Enterprise and they're waiting on transport. "Look, Uhura, if you're going to -- "

"I'm not," she says. She thought about transferring, but she won't. They'd taken the risk with eyes open. She won't do that to him or to herself or, surprisingly, to the captain. "I can't say it'll be easy, but I won't."

"Good," he says and smiles. It's that bright, cocky, arrogant as hell smirk that, usually, makes her want to kill him. "You still haven't told me your name. Well, not _officially_." There are some rules not even James T. Kirk will break.

She tries to smile, knows it's barely a parody of one, but she tries anyway. His response is a wicked grin, but with a hint of something warm and caring in his eye.

"Ass."

He throws an arm around her waist, "Yeah, but you love me."

They de-materialize before she can kill him.


End file.
